


In Front of You Like a Magnet

by applejwoos (kenmarcadeblues)



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Getting Together, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Swordfighting, but it’s not that intense, gay awakening - freeform, lucas & hendery & vivi are siblings, side tenwin!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24447289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenmarcadeblues/pseuds/applejwoos
Summary: [EDIT 1/14/21: title changed from “why, if i”]Xiao Dejun has his most homoerotic one-on-one to date and then expects to be unaffected.(Spoiler: he isn’t.)
Relationships: Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 16
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> what started as a drabble for twt got too long, and then i started Thinking. this may get more parts, stay tuned...
> 
> disclaimer: i can’t sit here and pretend that this isn’t inspired by the untamed. of course it is. that show lives in my mind rent-free :| but don’t expect too much here

All the boys said that sparring with Wong Yukhei of the Wong Clan was life-changing, but they wouldn’t say how. 

In this moment, with cool steel pricking at his Adam’s apple, part of Dejun wishes he hadn’t been so curious.

(But it’s in his nature to follow impulses, even if where they lead derails his Model Youth image a bit.)

30 seconds ago, Wong Yukhei had swiftly dodged Dejun’s blade and then sent his sword tumbling to the ground. They’d had a decent back-and-forth for ten minutes or so, but none of that matters now. Dejun has lost; Wong Yukhei has won. And although disappointing due to his (week-long) winning streak coming to an end, it feels remarkably ordinary. 

This is Wong Yukhei, for heaven’s sake! His body is a perfect warrior’s build and rumor has it that he sleeps with his sword beside him. Dejun is only good because _diligent and ceaseless learning_ is an important tenet of the Xiao Clan—not because his heart is in it. Of course he’s the one backed up against the inner wall of the Mengxiang courtyard. (There’s a few spectators watching from the walkways—mostly green-robed Liu Clan locals. All is serene over there, so Yangyang must be off somewhere else with the other rowdy kids.) 

The sword tip pushes under Dejun’s chin, forcing him to tilt his head up. Wong Yukhei fills his vision. “You fight well,” he says. 

Dejun gulps, but carefully. The heavy confidence of the gaze beholding him has his stomach sinking like a river stone. 

Sinking, sinking, sinking into twin pools the color of wet earth. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen eyes quite like this, as deep as they are wide. It’s news to no one, least of all Dejun, that Wong Yukhei is handsome, but up close…

Up close, he’s not untouchable and godly; just human. This discovery should be comforting, and yet Dejun’s stomach is rolling uncomfortably. 

Wong Yukhei lowers his blade and the sliding _kwish_ as it’s being sheathed causes Dejun to snap his head back to a normal angle. He can finally breathe. 

With backwards steps, the Wong boy comes away from the wall and Dejun follows like a magnet, equal but opposite. He tidies his hair and blue outer robe before picking up his weapon from where it lay among the minuscule pale rocks at their feet, glimmering in the evening sun.

  
  
  


“Wong Yukhei,” Dejun addresses as he bows. Turning left on this walkway leads to the Wong Clan’s guest accommodations, while Xiao Clan is staying in some rooms across the property. So, that’s that. He can finally say he sparred with Wong Yukhei. Cool. Life-changing, not so much. “Thank you for indulging me. You are as talented as—”

“You are fine, right?” Wong Yukhei interrupts, bold voice turning soft at the edges. “Did I actually cut you?”

Annoyed yet nonetheless compelled, Dejun begins to answer as he straightens, “I do not”—but then the taller boy is leaning down and close, examining just below his face. Dejun instinctively distances himself from those deep eyes. “Think so,” he finishes with a breath.

Wong Yukhei isn’t phased by Dejun’s glowering. “Mm. Good.” He bows, vibrant yellow robes folding at his waist and elbows. “Xiao Dejun,” he addresses.

Did it matter whether you sustained injuries while sparring? Was that not partly the point? Asking after an opponent certainly isn’t etiquette; Dejun has never heard it happen. “You did not want to cut me?” he asks.

“No,” Wong Yukhei confirms while raising his head. “I am not known to taint a pretty face.”

Beneath them, smooth and indelible wood creaks. For a moment, Dejun can’t tell if it’s because of the passerby or his own feet playing with his body weight. (His hands play, instead; tangling and untangling themselves to the drumming of his pulse.)

“Ah…” Dejun finds himself murmuring brainlessly. What is there to say? Being called pretty isn’t an insult, but it’s bringing heat into his cheeks anyhow. What is there to think? “I see. Is my _neck_ my face now?” 

And that sensed-up nonsense makes Wong Yukhei _laugh._ A silly, lopsided noise—squeaky and airy in strange places—that causes his strong shoulders to move up and down and a hand to fly over his mouth. 

And when his hand drops, a light grin is on his lips. “Challenge me again when you have improved.” 

_If I improve,_ Dejun thinks loudly. “Perhaps.” 

They bow to each other one last time. Succinct, ordinary, and according to etiquette.

*****

The first lecture of the day is at six in the morning, and yet Liu Yangyang is already bouncing by the time Dejun folds his legs and settles: three rows from the front because that’s where Yangyang is, too.

“Well?” Yangyang asks, leaning in an undignified fashion over the aisle which halves the seating placements. It’s nice that they’re not in the same clan (so that Dejun has time to breathe), but then again, the younger boy has to resort to...this. At least Master Liu is late and therefore can’t yell at him yet. “Are you a changed man, ge?”

“Huh?”

Yangyang stretches his features comically and motions with his head to the front row. Wong Clan is sitting there again. Wong Yukhei is smiling at his brother, Wong Kunhang, who Yangyang is always cracking up at (‘His mind works differently than ours, seriously!’). Maybe Yukhei had been laughing. His ears are pink, just as they’d been when he turned away from Dejun yesterday evening. 

Today, Dejun turns away. His stomach still feels like a dense little stone. _Why?_ “No. Just the Xiao Dejun that you know.”

“Mm,” Yangyang says, “I see.”

Dejun does not like the tone he’s using. 


	2. Chapter 2

Seated on the creek’s edge, Dejun absentmindedly kicks his legs in the current. The cold bite of the water feels nice on weary soles.

He’s thinking about how strange it is: Yangyang hasn’t spoken to him all day since the words ‘I see’ left his lips this morning. Not one peep throughout two more lectures and one physicality session.

He did, however, send some choice glances.

So when soft splashing draws Dejun’s attention downstream and he squints through the sun’s glare, it’s not too surprising that Yangyang is heading for him...slowly but surely. But seeing Li Yongqin next to the younger boy makes him do a double-take.  _ He’s free right now? When there’s still daylight?  _

_ “Xiaojunjun!” _ Yongqin calls cheerily, a far cry from the neutrality he displayed earlier. The excitement of being noticed makes his steps faster, and soon he’s only a few meters away. Meanwhile Yangyang, teeth out in a grimace, straggles like any normal person would. 

“How are you?” Yongqin joins Dejun on the bank, and they both watch their Little Sheep struggle—though he’s making good progress.

Dejun smiles weakly. “Honestly, could be better.” He lifts one leg out of the water and points his reddened toes. 

“Oh, no! Your feet truly hurt?” Yongqin asks, loud and shrill due to genuine dismay. 

Shuangganbang is technically two creeks that run side-by-side for a few miles, and this is the place at which they finally meet. The creek closest to Liu Clan’s holdings has frigid, muscle-numbing water all year round; if one manages to cross it, they come upon slightly warmer water in the second creek. Both are bedded in a layer of unforgiving stones. 

“Heavens, Qin-ge,” Yangyang says pointedly, “not everyone lacks bones as you do!” Then he strides quickly, hating every second, and sidles up to Dejun’s right side. 

“I do not! I am just...special.” 

“Whatever it is...it is unfair,” Dejun concludes, not for the first time. 

(Whose idea was it to force the youths to run back and forth through the two creeks? And why get Li Yongqin _ ,  _ of all the older youths present at Mountain Hideaway now, to lead that? Dejun loves his friend, but he’s kind of a freak. He can bend his body in inhuman ways and frankly does  _ not _ understand why the creek-beds are such terrors to everyone else.) 

“Whatever, indeed. Let us talk of newer matters,” Yongqin insists, lips curling curiously.

Yangyang feigns thinking before he bumps into Dejun’s shoulder and declares a topic all too eagerly. “You and Wong Yukhei.” 

Sparring is an expectation; a proud aspect of a sword-fighting tradition which isn’t meant to be kept secret. There’s a very real chance that the whole population (temporary and not-so) of Mountain Hideaway knows the gist of what went down yesterday evening. 

“I held my ground for ten minutes—however, as expected, I lost. He displaced my sword with his great strength,” Dejun reports. Judging by their expressions, it’s nothing his friends haven’t already heard. “To my luck, you were not present to tease me.”

“And?”

“It was not bad. Wong Yukhei is an interesting opponent.”

“Right?!” Yangyang’s outburst causes Dejun to flinch and back into Yongqin, who then taps him. 

But it isn’t because the 21 year old is bothered. “Say, did he…?” Yongqin points his hand at his throat, purple sleeve sliding back from his wrist. His head tilts as he moves it upward. 

Dejun gulps gently, the ghost of Wong Yukhei’s sword on him. “Yes.” 

A serious hum. “So, then...do you think Wong Yukhei is  _ trying _ to be sexy, or simply performing a well-practiced action?”

Much can be said for a question of this kind; very much indeed. But first thing’s first. “‘Sexy’ is a heavy word.”  _ And strange to use for describing another boy,  _ Dejun doesn’t say. He knows they know. Every person in every clan knows. 

“Really?” Yangyang chimes in. His initial brightness fades as he becomes impassioned with each additional word: “Then how would  _ you _ describe Wong Yukhei when he looks at you as if he has you right where he wants? When he has trapped you and taken your control? When you dare not move for fear of his blade?” 

Both Yangyang and Yongqin have clearly given a lot of thought to Wong Yukhei. Admittedly, Dejun has, as well—only since yesterday. It doesn’t change the fact that what’s being implied here is beyond him. Boys finding other boys objectively sexy is fine, and yet his friends are getting all too personal. “I am unsure,” he says. “All I can concede is that his eyes are big.” Yangyang quirks a brow. “And intimidating!” he adds quickly.

Again, Yongqin contributes to the precarious pile of questions. “But did you mind that? Because if not, you would not be the first. Truthfully, far from.” 

Before Dejun can further voice his befuddlement, twigs crunch somewhere behind him. All three boys whip around to face the forest. 

Dong Sicheng is among the trees, shining purple robes stark and lovely against their verdance. “Dong Sicheng,” Dejun and Yangyang greet, nearly in unison as they bend their torsos awkwardly. 

“Xiao Dejun. Liu Yangyang,” Dong Sicheng addresses, turning to each boy when he says their name. He bows to his clan member last. “Li Yongqin, you are needed at Mountain Hideaway.”

“By who?” Yongqin groans, already rising to his feet. 

“Me,” Dong Sicheng says. He steps closer. “I want to eat.”

“Can you not eat alone? Or with other people? Mountain Hideaway is rich with people these days,” Yongqin reasons. 

“I know. But I do not wish to eat alone, and those people will not suffice.” Dong Sicheng’s perfect, rail-straight posture is broken by the sagging of his shoulders. “Please come.”

Dejun watches Yongqin’s cheeks turn rosy. They match Sicheng’s ears. “Okay.”

“We will leave after you two,” Yangyang announces, slinging an arm over Dejun’s shoulders.

Yongqin smiles down at his seated friends. “Alright, then. I will see you boys later. Do not leave your legs in the water too long!”

They all bow their goodbyes. The Yin and Yang of the Dong Clan exit. Dejun tries to massage his wet, woozy legs back to normalcy. 

_ What is normalcy? _ His reflection on the surface of the water doesn’t have an answer. In the water, Yangyang, too, looks the same as he always has. But there is always more than what’s shown on the surface. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, i’m not sure where i’m going but i will go anyway. side character rights


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i love loona...sue me
> 
> anyways, i think there’s exciting stuff coming after this! thanks to everyone who has taken a look at this impulsive thing so far~

Yukhei sighs as he lowers himself and crosses his legs. 

The teapot heats his palm. He pours out two cups, starting with the one further from him. Across the dark wood of the table, Kahei savors the delicate swirlings of white brew and jasmine. It smells like home. 

“So, another win,” Kahei says. “Xiao Dejun, was it?” 

“Yes.”

In terms of location, Xiao Clan is the closest to Wong Clan. In terms of relations, not so much. He didn’t remember meeting Xiao Dejun as a child, though Father said it had indeed taken place. In his mind, they’d met three weeks ago and Xiao Dejun had been uninterested from the start; but as days blurred by, the boy seemed to grow ever colder... 

Until yesterday, when he was caught outside the Wong Clan guest rooms after dinner. _Xiao Dejun_ asked _Yukhei_ to spar. Winter never warms into spring in such a fashion—but people, on the other hand, are strange and unpredictable. 

“How was he?”

Yukhei’s answer is honest, flying up his throat like a butterfly. “Beautiful.”

“I meant his skills.”

“Right,” Yukhei gulps and straightens his posture before continuing, “well. He fought like a Xiao: very defense-focused. Clean, but nothing special.” He swirls the tea in his cup yet doesn’t drink. “Though I would not mind challenging him once more.”

“Why? To gaze closely upon his face?” _Nothing could be better,_ Yukhei thinks. “Or to be alone with him?” _How would he treat me without an audience?_ “Were you two alone?” Kahei is leaning forward onto the table in an unladylike stance. 

“We were not.” Then Yukhei counters his sister’s interrogation with a question of his own: “Is it any more deliberate than attending to Princess Jo like a personal assignment?”

“That was not the same,” Kahei states, soft voice growing pointed. “I am the best medic in our clan; she deserved a good mentor, for she is foreign royalty.”

“Alright, fine…” he trails off. She’s right, but he’s not an idiot. “What now, then? Do you continue teaching in your letters?”

Kahei’s main table at home is in a constant state of disarray with piles of curled paper and thin ribbons strewn across it. A steady stream of deliveries come from the Kingdom of Han. One every half-month. (Letters, yes, but they have so many pages; letters, yes, but that bracelet Kahei has tied on her left wrist isn’t from around here—or anywhere Yukhei can go, for that matter.) 

“Somewhat. We have discussions of politics and morality, as well.”

“What is Jo Haseul’s opinion of hypocrites?”

Kahei doesn’t answer him. She rests her chin in her hands while the side of the teapot takes her gaze, eyes intent on green glaze. (Liu Clan has interesting wares. Maybe Liu Yangyang will give the Wong siblings gifts if one of them implies they want some. Kunhang should probably be the one.) 

Low and wistful, she says, “It is hard being different, di.”

Yukhei hums because he knows. 

He knows that some feelings are better left hidden. He knows his sister wants him to live well, to not struggle. 

But he doesn’t go down easy; it’s how he’s built. 

*****

Sleep tends to consume Yukhei like a fast-moving river, delivering vivid, nonsense dreams and leaving him awash in a puddle of his own drool. (None of the supplements Kahei has prescribed stop his overactive salivation glands. It’s a battle he can’t win.) However, tonight it acts elusive. Tomorrow is a chance to prove he’s not a mere jock; if ever people need a hero, Yukhei wants to be the one they turn to first. He _can_ kill monsters and spirits, now he just has to _do_ it—and do it more than any other youth. 

Though the moon and stars can’t tell him whether or not he’ll meet his own high expectations, they’re much prettier than the guest room’s ceiling. But now something is stealing his attention.

A sound on the wind breaking up the stifling night. 

Yukhei advances in the direction it seems to be coming from, carefully treading on the wavy tiles of the rooftop. It’s so faint that three roof-jumps later he can finally confirm it as a voice, rhythmic and sweet. Yukhei squints into the dark and sees a vague lump on top of the next structure. 

He doesn’t question who or what, or why. 

He sits there with his ears wide open and wind gusting across his skin, all the while enchanted down to his soul. 

_Maybe it’s a good omen._

**Author's Note:**

> talk me out of my random, ambitious ideas (or encourage them, i guess) 
> 
> twt: geecob  
> tumblr: applejwoos


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